That's. Too much information. One of Doc's eyebrows rises and rises and rises crawling up towards his hairline and then he gives Malcolm a nod. Is that a euphemism for something or did he just. Announce it like he's a little four year old kid?

"Presume you won't be needing help with that," Doc says after clearing his throat, leaning forward to slowly get onto his feet. He watches Malcolm get up, ready to lend a hand if needed, but otherwise he stands by and watches him leave.

"Use-- that one. Without the shine." Doc gestures towards the bathroom in between the two smaller bedrooms, a short walk away from the kitchen.

Licking his upper lip, Doc screws the cap back on and shoves the bottle of moonshine behind him, onto the nearby side table like he's got something to hide. Shoving his hands into his back pockets, he turns his attention back towards Raylan. He highly doubts Malcolm's actually going to make a run for it now that he's lucid.

"Well that went well," Doc comments with a tilt of his head. "I don't mean to be rude, but. You look like you've been hit by a freight train. You alright, Marshal?" They probably both look pretty shattered. At least they're able to stand fairly steady.